


Don't act like I'm not here

by laliquey



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Emotional Constipation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kylo Ren is a Mess, M/M, Medical Procedures, Minor Character Death, Porn with Feelings, Reylo adjacent, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laliquey/pseuds/laliquey
Summary: Post-TFA, pre-TLJ:Hot mess Kylo beds and kills a concubine that looks like Rey.He injures himself in the process, and Hux is weirdly thoughtful and kind.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 35





	Don't act like I'm not here

It's coming, he knows, the lecture or vaporization for total failure. He should've just rolled into the chasm and disappeared.

Every minute is off-kilter discomfort worse than he's ever known, and he walks the hall, pitching his mind about a meter ahead. It helps him feel detached from the invisible pressure of what's what's thought of him now. He's kept his face hidden and believes it's mostly unknown what happened in the snow, but he hears two nobodies talking in an alcove.

_"He doesn't know the first thing about leading."_

The overheard fragment becomes a staticky, crackling mess over Kylo's shoulder that digs in its claws and he slows to hear more.

_"Too true. Thumbsucking idiot."_

His pulse roars; it's about him. Seven tiers of hierarchy separate him from those who said it, but surely it's about him.

With feigned nonchalance he backs up three steps and continues his original direction, dragging his lightsaber along the wall in a shower of sparks that singes the nobodies and creates a glorious wall of sound. He digs in hard so it screeches even louder and takes it much further than necessary, ruining door frames, power panels, the copper bezels, everything. The right side of the hallway blacks out with every step.

Hux catches up with him soon after it's retracted and needs to trot a bit to keep up. "What exactly does it accomplish, when you do that? Does it really make you feel better?"

Momentarily, yes. Long-term...no.

"We've discussed this."

"At length, yes." After the preventable gas leak that sickened an entire quadrant, and suddenly, somehow, Hux's finger hooks the inside of his glove, right up against the bare skin of his wrist. The intimacy's so shocking he gets pulled into a quiet hall by just that one finger. 

"Kylo, please. You can't spin every irritant into destruction every time, it's paralysis." They've never been this physically close before. "I'm honestly starting to worry about you. You're stronger than this. Better than this." The proximity would normally be unwelcome but this is different, somehow. His eyes are like great open oceans and he means every word. "I beg you to find another outlet."

He's more concerned than condescending. That's what makes Kylo pay attention.

It's even possible the offending comments he overheard weren't about him.

Isn't it?

When Kylo considers the prescription for another outlet, the basest one appeals to him. It's been a long time, and his face warms to think of it...rather humiliating to always have to ask for it, but then, it's merely a formality of administration, of simple access.

Isn't it?

He can't recall the last time he visited the pleasure ward, but the ruby-lipped mother still fronts it, with her powdered face and creases deep enough to hold weaponry. "An honor and a pleasure to see you again," she says in her gritty voice and ushers him inside, where the lighting is just as poor as he remembers.

He's in the mood for a woman this time. Every permutation is available in the lineup, and a subtle cower makes a few of them even smaller and he relishes what lies in their weak little hearts, the fear that this towering giant will tear them in half.

Fine. Let them think it.

The first is nude, the second's in blue. A thousand tattoos and extra fingers on the next. Then giant breasts, long black plait, navel jewel...it's all a blur until the one with the least festooning of all. Dark hair pulled back into a trio of knobs, like the Girl.

He stops before her unafraid eyes.

So much like her. Isn't she?

Up close, he sniffs deeply through the mask, more to frighten her than for his own sense of smell, and her neck curves to allow it. A brush through her thoughts has his mouth juicing up - she's willing. Curious.

"Have this one washed & brought to me."

That he speaks it unnecessarily loud doesn't shake her; the corner of her mouth even twitches, as if she's won a prize.

*

She's delivered to his rooms, still damp from the bath and muted by a new shyness...he hopes to find that delicious hidden tension in her thighs when he parts them. The transparent scent of orchids lingers like a halo when she stands before him, braver than most but still unsure what to do.

"I know what I want," he barks through the filter. "I'd like to hear what you want."

"To please you."

"How very unimaginative,' he scoffs, but she snaps back.

"I want to see your face."

That's it, the fire he wanted. He takes his time and clicks the lock twice for no reason, then presses the release and lifts it off; her eyes sparkle like twin stars.

"More handsome than I imagined," she says, nearly laughing from relief. "Far more."

Honeyed words from a lying cunt, but he'll still take it. "What did you expect?"

"Ugly. Old." A step closer and a soft hand reaches up to touch the black tape binding his face together. "And you're neither."

It's good that the helmet's off because this one will be kissed. Everywhere.

Deliciously close, he backs her to bed and falls on her with tongue, teeth, and hands. She's earnest and aggressive in return; the moment he's undressed enough she wraps her mouth around him as he shivers and bites back a groan...the pleasure builds so fast he can't look down, can't hide it, can't stop.

He comes much too fast, then recovers, buckles down, and fucks her hard to prove he can. Nails dig little moons into his back and she cries out, louder and louder and he spills over himself from hearing it and knowing that he's pleased her.

After, her strong eyes lock on his. She expects more, and she'll get it.

For hours they wrestle and rest, tangled up with each other either way until a break for whip-vine olives & cold water. He's parched from all the talking, fucking, and friction, but can't stop - the moment the last olive is gone he's chasing its salt in her mouth and hardening up again.

His favorite is being settled on his back, between her splayed legs, and an easy fondness volleys between them as she rides him.

"I love the noises you make."

He likes hers, too. "Will you come back, if I ask for you?"

"Gladly," she smiles. He takes a quick dip into her thoughts and everything there is a gift - her peaks aren't false, they're very much real and she's nearing yet another. She likes his size and strength and wants to be with him as much as he'll allow.

Such an aphrodisiac, to be wanted.

His fingertips disappear into her thighs and he looks at the cradle of her hipbones and imagines planting a child there. Even this, now, quells some of the static that plagues him, and as he rolls up to join her, he sees it. A consort would temper him and improve his rule. Less outbursts, more respect.

Yes. It's the answer to so much.

Isn't it?

"Catch up to me, Kylo. I'm so close..."

He's overstimulated and raw from all of this, it's going to hurt.

"Kylo..."

She tenses, holds, and moans, and it's the sweetest pain of his life as he cries out loud and empties inside her one more time, fucking up into that ticklish edge of agony until he can't anymore. Involuntary tears press at his eyes and she understands...he's so sensitive he'll shatter if she moves. "I'll be still until you say."

"Thank you."

He uses the stillness to drink in her dark, warm eyes, and he vows to get her as spent as he is now, by feasting on her lovely cunt till she's hoarse from screaming his name. He smiles at the thought and twitches a little, and no, not yet...

He finally shifts her weight a bit and they carefully disengage. "Oh. Oh!"

"Are you alright? Oh dear." She rises up on her knees and a rope of fluid leaks out. She swipes it, tastes it, and gives the rest to him.

_There._

They'll have to pause because he can't do this anymore; she seems similarly tired as she swings a leg over and settles down beside him.

The room's humid from all that's gone on. She fusses over him sweetly with dry little kisses and her hand explores the silvery web of stretchmarks that line his sides from when he was young and grew too tall too fast. "I thought you'd be rough," she says.

"Are you disappointed?"

"No, I'm glad you're so lovely. I was just ready for it, that's all."

_Rough._

He cringes to think of all the ones he's bruised before, and once he even killed a set of twins he couldn't satisfy so they wouldn't tell anyone. It all seems so empty and ridiculous now that he feels so stripped-down and clear. No sides: no light, no dark, just himself. Is this what it feels like, to be someone else? To have your heart so in the right place that you stop noticing it?

He props himself up on an elbow and studies her face. She's younger than him, but not by much. "How many men have had you before me?"

"Seventy four."

A lie, easily forgiven.

"Would you like it if I were your last?" he asks, and her thoughts blush a color he would dress her in, if he could.

"Now that I know you, I want nothing else." Soft fingertips trace his bigger, uglier scars. "I imagine you'll want heirs."

It's so titillating to even think about. "I do."

"Then you'll have them. Two sons and a daughter."

A deep chill ripples through him. They might even be beautiful, being half her. "How could you know that?"

Her smile is lovely and wise. "Our boys will be close in age and always have someone to spar with, but our girl will come later. She'll be your dearest love. The Resistance will be gone by then and you'll have time to lavish her with all you know."

He's tearing up with joy. He wants it so much he can almost see the trio of dear faces, until a red-green flash slices through the bridge of his nose and into the corner of his eye.

_It's a lie._

Her insides are swept empty, he can see the instruments that did it. Feeling further into her head, this...this is all an engineered escape. A crown, time to sleep, and one bedmate rather than hundreds; she finds his body serviceable and hopes to grow used to the odd face, but...she doesn't really want him at all.

He rears up. "Let's start now."

"Oh. Oh!" He's a bit rough, grabbing her hips and dragging her halfway out of bed so she's bent over with her feet on the floor.

"Don't move."

She whines sweetly when he takes five silent steps away to fetch something behind them, but soon he's back and grabbing a low fistful of her hair. The impulse is so strong he can't talk himself out of it - the hum and red glow fills the room - she can't see it, but she knows.

"Kylo-"

"Lies. All of it."

"No. No!" She chokes on a sob and reaches back, trying to pry his hand off. He enjoys the struggle and swings the saber for effect.

"Tell me more about the children we can't have."

"We'll find a way." The begging becomes rapid-fire, hysterical. "Please, I'll make you happy, I swear it! We were happy just now! Almost in love, didn't you feel it? You did, I know you did!"

The tip starts to melt a hole in the ceiling as he pulls her hair further back, just to be cruel.

"Please don't...I beg you."

He brings it down to hover in front of her face, her neck.

A glob of molten ceiling hisses and falls, eating into his bare shoulder. The pain doesn't startle him into it - he's fully in control when the bright flash of red tips her head back.

He lets go of her hair immediately so the weight doesn't rip her neck all the way though.

The blade flashes away and he pretends the heap on the floor is just meat and hair.

_She shouldn't have lied._

He's never wanted an heir before, never even considered it. But somehow that turned into this, now, and a decision is made: The First Order will be his bride from now on, the way it is for Hux. No nonsense, no nuance, just total devotion. The dead girl almost deserves thanks for the new clarity, and they share the room a bit longer, until he shrouds her body in his robes & drags it it out into the hall.

With that out of the way, he climbs back into bed and pulls the covers around himself, adjusting around an odd snag behind him.

A lump of glassy gray polymer from the ceiling has fused to his shoulder and won't come off. For as much as it hurt when it happened, he can't feel it now.

*

The polymer stays put for days, until an enormous blister pushes it off. Later, it bursts in his sleep and weeps down his back when he's awake, and every time he thinks it's healed, it hasn't.

The entire incident makes him more quiet and a bit more careful; Hux was right. Any effort not contributing to the First Order is effort wasted. His behavior stabilizes to a point that Hux even comments, and they are strangely amicable for a while. It feels good, to rebuild. The lecture from Snoke still hasn't happened, and Kylo dares to hope it might not happen at all.

While the development with Hux mends something within him, the wound slowly morphs into a foul friend. At times it seems to retreat, but others he'll turn his head and gag. He can't get warm, but paradoxically swims in sweat as his body downshifts into a guarded mode of illness, and if his barren queen were to spring back to life honest and unharmed, he couldn't pleasure either of them if he tried. He sees her quite often now, with that awful cauterized smile splitting her neck. His mother makes a few warm, sweet appearances, and Rey is on the edges sometimes, just out of reach.

He disappears into his rooms; Hux wants to see him but he refuses. He refuses everyone but the medic he sends for when it's finally too much.

From the warmth of the hand on his forehead, he knows that he's far too cold. From the thumb pressed into his wrist, he knows his pulse is far too fast.

The pause is telling when the wound's uncovered. "How did this happen?"

He waves up toward the bubbled ceiling overhead. "It fell from there."

"I see." More silence and a faint sigh. "You might've called for me earlier, but we'll see what we can do."

A thick needle prick in the arm and a bag of liquid begins to join his bloodstream. The medic stands over him and pokes around in the wound with instruments Kylo cannot feel.

"I thought it wasn't bad because there wasn't pain."

"That's because the nerves are gone." he says. "And the infection's poisoning your blood. Enough of it and the body will start to turn on itself."

Kylo swallows. "I want something to help me sleep."

"As you wish."

"Something that stops dreams and makes me forget."

"There's no such thing, I'm afraid."

This man knows too much and definitely must be killed, but only after he completes his job. Metallic clicking of the metal wound spider forms a little dance over Kylo's shoulder. "Tell me what it's doing."

"Cutting out the necrotic tissue. A wound like this needs to heal from the inside out," he says. The spider makes an unpleasant grinding sound, then hops off and deposits a chunk on a little steel tray. A foul, wet pile of it continues to grow, bit by bit.

Kylo remains still and decides he needs a new heart. Made of high modulus carbon fiber, is that possible? the current one is much too soft. "I'm so full of holes"

"Once the poison works itself out you'll feel new."

"But I _am_ poison." Incubating in his mother, had she felt then that something wasn't right? Disaster after disaster...this isn't new. A petty killer. An ugly face cracked in two by a girl, a _novice._ Tears streak his face when he blinks...this can never be outrun.

It's kind of the medic to pretend he's not witnessing grave embarrassment. "You're quite ill. You probably haven't been sleeping well, and nightmares when you do."

True.

"Hallucinations?"

"A few."

"Be patient. You'll come out strong on the other end." He digs in his box of equipment but can't find what he wants, and the spider sighs and crawls away, spitting another disgusting load on the tray and folding itself up into a ball. "I need a different dressing than what I brought. If you'll excuse me a moment."

Kylo nods and sighs, knowing this man will probably tell his peers that Kylo Ren sheds tears like a whiny little cunt. When his back's turned, he reaches out to choke him but him but there's no effect - he doesn't even notice.

"By the way..." Kylo's arm retracts as he turns. "Commander Hux is concerned about you. May I permit him entry?"

He's too weak to fight any of this anymore. "Fine."

"Lie back and let the fluid soak into you. It'll help."

It does feel good, honestly, to have a little bit of relief, but he's so fucking tired he simply shuts down and closes his eyes. Tethered to an IV drip, what else is he going to do?

The tight, measured steps approach. How awful must he look, hollow-eyed and hollowed-out....

Hux looks healthy and hale, as usual. "I understand you're not well. I'm very sorry to hear it." He glances at the dead tissue on the tray. "Is there anything you need that you aren't getting?"

A laughable question. Kylo shakes his head no.

"I hope you'll notify me if that changes." He walks a few steps over in front of him, so his gaze can't be avoided. "We need you at your best, Kylo."

He looks away, grateful that he's too tired to weep. "There's no such thing."

Hux sits down on the edge of his bed - which is absolutely unthinkable, but so much of this is. He reluctantly falls into a space just above sleep, though only a moment later he overhears the medic & Hux talking. About him.

"I hear every word," he lies, trying to sound strong but he doesn't. "Don't act like I'm not here."

"Kylo, there are three of us in this room and I promise every one of us wants the same thing."

For him to disappear? Really?

He's vaguely aware of the needle coming out of his arm and being turned over on his side. A warm hand rests on his forearm and he listens a bit harder, and hears _hydrate_ and _s_ _epsis._

Further talk must be bad because the hand on his arm gives a little squeeze. The medic circles around the bed from the other side, climbs up behind him, and the work on the wound resumes.

The bite of a needle pushes into a part of his shoulder where he can feel pain...and he wonders if they're drugging him. Or killing him. He honestly doesn't care.

"Tell me what you're doing now."

"Fixing you."

It must be truth serum. "You can't."

"Hush, now." Hux covers him up. Eyes close again and something that smells nice is packed into the wound. He's vaguely aware of other additions and a bandage sealing it all up. They will see each other again tomorrow, he's told, and the medic leaves but Hux stays and tucks the covers around him with the tenderness of a mother.

It's inexplicable, this kindness. 

"Supreme Leader wants to see you but I'll take care of it. He'll have to wait."

"Forever, please."

"I'll try." And fail, they both know, but it still feels good to be on the same side.

They've been on the same side for a while, now. Haven't they? "Does it smell horrible in here?"

"It did before, but it doesn't now."

Good. Even though his eyes want to close, he tries to stay awake and conversational, because it feels like a rare window's opened up and he mustn't miss anything. "I found an outlet like you said. Surely you heard all about the dead girl."

"The only girl I know of is the one who carved you up, and she'll be dead soon enough." He brushes Kylo's hair back from his face and surveys the black line crossing it. "I'll see to it personally."

"Why are you being so good to me." It doesn't curl as a question should. It just hangs there.

"Because I need you. We need each other, really, and I've been thinking," he says, lacing a warm hand with his cold one. "What I lack, you have, and the reverse is true, too. We'd be stronger together than separate. Unstoppable, I think, and perhaps one day...I could be your outlet. Just as you'd be mine."

It's as if this is happening to someone else. Kylo hasn't the strength to feel around the edges, but he's positive he's being manipulated, and yet...not one cell of him cares. Whatever reward or praise is dangled closest, he'll reach for it. Every time. 

Hux gets softer. Quieter. "You're so ill you probably won't remember this later."

"No, I will." He struggles to sit up. "I want it, too."

"Good." Hux pats him to lie back down and drops a kiss on his forehead.

As soon as he's well enough, he will dig into this, and dig hard. It feels real enough.

He'll twist around Hux like the other half of a double helix, braced by the safety of an identic goal. It will elevate him. It will heal him.

Hux looks down on him, not quite smiling but he seems pleased.

This feels real enough.

_Doesn't it?_


End file.
